


August, 1795

by Other_Pens



Series: Oak Tree Vignettes [3]
Category: The London Life (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Childhood Friends, Childhood Sweethearts, F/M, Fluff, Regency, Regency Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 11:13:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7974781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Other_Pens/pseuds/Other_Pens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freddie is determined not to count her chickens before they've hatched.</p>
            </blockquote>





	August, 1795

Freddie Bexley had not slept a wink since she had been returned to Hillshaw in the Haverleighs' carriage. There had been a little assembly held in town, and Mrs. Haverleigh had been kind enough to offer to take Freddie along with her own daughter, and Sir Arthur had offered neither interest nor interference.  
  
Whatever Mrs. Haverleigh's inklings or ideas were, she gave no sign of having given the matter any particular thought at all when she persuaded her eldest son to join their party.  
  
"Of course I should be very happy to see Freddie again," he said. George had felt rather sorry that he hadn't had much of a chance to speak with her when she had called on his mother the other afternoon. His tea had gone down all wrong when she'd smiled at him, and he was determined to prove he was not an entire buffoon.  
  
"Only mind you call her Miss Bexley in company, George," his mother admonished him. "It is all very well that you played together as children, but she is a young lady, now, and has her reputation to think of."  
  
It hadn't occurred to George until then that Frederica Bexley might have a Reputation, or what he might have to do with maintaining it.  
  
He'd handed the ladies into the carriage and out of it, in due course. Miss Bexley had given him thanks, with another smile. It was enough to prompt him to claim a space upon her card--and he was privately vexed that it was not the first.  
  
"Mr. Braithwaite asked me for two dances a fortnight ago," she explained, with a look so apologetic that George felt immediately mollified by a feeling that, if Miss Bexley were to have a preference, it would be in his favour.  
  
He had then given his mother his arm for a turn about the room while the dancing commenced, rather than asking any other woman to stand up with him. He was well-able to follow Miss Bexley's progress, and thought that she danced very well, indeed.  
  
"She is quite a popular girl, you know," said his mother. "It is no wonder Mr. Braithwaite asked for his dances so many days in advance. I am rather surprised to find she had any spaces left upon her card, at all."  
  
Mrs. Haverleigh was not to know that Freddie had turned down a second dance with a young attorney and entirely cut out a Mr. Hoxton in the hopes that George Haverleigh's name would take those places beside her favourite dances--which it did.  
  
Of course Frederica had been obliged to dance with the other gentlemen, and even George was not so petulant that he could not find enjoyment in asking some other girls to dance, as well; but not many minutes passed without one casting a glance in the direction of the other.  
  
A sleepy footman had been left to receive Freddie at Hillshaw when she returned from the dance in the early morning hours, depriving George of one final chance to take hold of her gloved hand and help her to alight from the carriage. Nonetheless, she smiled at him when 'goodnights' were exchanged, and he saw that she lingered on the steps to watch them depart.  
  
It was useless to continue attempting to sleep when she knew it would never come to her.  
  
Throwing off her covers, Freddie silently dressed and crept downstairs, going out at the kitchen door, deciding that a walk and fresh air would do her more good than lying in the shut-up stillness of her room.  
  
The night dew still glimmered on the world as Frederica wandered to the great oak, the stalks of grass and grain darkening where she had walked; and the hem of her old brown dress grew heavy with damp.  
  
She paused for only half a moment when she saw the figure of a man standing beneath the tree, then smiled contentedly as she realized she was not one bit surprised that he was there.  
  
George, on the other hand, could not entirely conceal his start when Freddie appeared, as if summoned by the power of his fanciful thoughts. He was yet dressed for the evening, and had evidently found the notion of sleep as futile as she.  
  
"There seemed to be no use in even trying," she said. "I am not a bit tired."  
  
"And yet you danced the whole evening," said George--at which accusation, Freddie only shrugged.  
  
"My feet do ache a little--that I will own," she said. "But what could sleeping do?"  
  
"Yes, I hear a walk is just the thing for sore feet," said George, grinning when he found he could not help but make a joke. He had been half-afraid that his newfound admiration for Miss Bexley would somehow spoil that precious camaraderie he had known once upon a time with little Freddie--and he was delighted to realize it had not. Freddie burst out laughing, and it was just as it always had been between them. Only entirely different.  
  
"You must share in the blame, then," she admonished him. "For you _would_ have a second dance!"  
  
"Next time I shall sit with you, then," George promised her, and Freddie hoped the early morning light would not betray how pink her cheeks had become. George turned to the swing which hung from the tree, and gallantly brushed the dew from the wooden seat. "You can sit here, now."  
  
"I think your father had this swing put up," remarked Freddie as she sat on it. "After you broke the old rope."  
  
"He never did find out who was responsible...I think he suspected Phillip."  
  
"Your secret was safe with me."  
  
"All of my secrets are safe with you, Freds." His mother's lecture pinched him somewhere in his conscience, and he hastily corrected himself. "Miss Bexley."  
  
"Miss Bexley?" Freddie wrinkled her nose and fought the urge to stick her tongue as she looked back at George over her shoulder. "We're not playing at manners in the assembly rooms, anymore."  
  
"No, we're not...and _you_ are quite unchaperoned."  
  
"Heavens!" Freddie pressed the back of one hand to her forehead, closing her eyes as she threw back her head and tried to look upset. "I am quite, quite ruined!" She paused and opened one eye to peep at George, who was biting his lip to keep from laughing outright. "...RUINED!" she wailed in a low, tragic tone.  
  
"Well I don't think you'll manage to make a living on the stage, once good society has shunned you forever," said George.  
  
"Please--I was hardly even trying," said Freddie, dropping her arm as well as the melodrama. She took hold of the ropes from which the swing dangled and kicked her feet lightly off the ground, leaning back a little in an attempt to gain some momentum. "Anyway, you'll have to fight a duel with Perry, as he's going to defend my honour once this scandal gets out."  
  
"Why couldn't I defend your honour?" protested George.  
  
"Because you are the wretched scoundrel who has had the brazen impudence to happen to meet me while I was walking alone."  
  
George caught hold of the swing as Freddie drifted backwards, pulling her to a stop with a slight wobble.  
  
"And what if I were to make an honest woman of you?" he said, laughingly.  
  
Freddie tilted her head back so she could peer up at him, and George stopped laughing. He had never seen Frederica Bexley look at him in quite that way, before. Or, perhaps, he'd never thought to look at how she looked at him, before. His fingers slipped along the ropes to where hers gripped the swing tightly, and his warm hands covered her cold ones.  
  
Frederica felt as if her heart might pound itself into pieces--it sounded so much like the sort of thing she had imagined a million times...and yet, some part of her heart whispered that it wasn't possible. They had taken tea once when she visited his mother and danced twice the night before. They were old friends and that intimacy and the manner of their teasing was bound to lead them into saying silly, sentimental things. He didn't mean...he _couldn't_...could he? And even if, for one mad moment, he did mean it, what if it was all the foolishness of liking her and dancing with her and seeing her now and the spell of the glowing dawn and glistening dewdrops...?  
  
Freddie's doubts coiled in the pit of her stomach and pulled her too-eager heart down with them. It was all too fast, and more than she longed for George to want her, she was terrified of being a passing fancy, a momentary inclination. She'd rather live out her days as a spinster than regret making George Haverleigh unhappy in an impetuous match.  
  
She forced herself to smile--something one became quite adept at when living under Sir Arthur's roof--and slipped off the swing, drawing her hands out from under his with a shiver she tried to attribute to the chill of the early hour.  
  
"I think we'd better take care where we go walking, in the future," she said lightly, dropping a brief, perfect curtsy. "Good morning, Mr. Haverleigh."  
  
George was still too astonished and confused to find any reply before Freddie was off--and by the time he regained his senses, it was too late to call her back. Still holding the swing, he frowned a little as her tiny figure disappeared across the field, and drew an unsteady breath.  
  
" _Freds..._ " he whispered, bewildered.


End file.
